


Camelot

by rosewindow



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewindow/pseuds/rosewindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean moves to Camelot to study magic under Sir Robert, he just wants to do a few spells and maybe learn to joust, he doesn't expect all the politics, or the fact that Prince Castiel is so charming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the wonderful jimmy-darling-ahs. Hope you enjoy it!

“This is a stupid idea,” Sam says. His head almost touches the thatched roof of the tiny cabin.

“You look ridiculous, Giant,” Dean says automatically, continuing to pack his satchel.

“Who says this Sir Robert can teach you anything, anyway? We’re doing fine here.”

“A ghoul nearly leveled the town last month and I couldn’t do anything. I’m going to Camelot.” Dean smirks. “I know you’ll miss me, little bro, but it’s time for you to do things on your own.”

Sam snorts, then his face grows serious. “You’ll be safe, right?”

“Always am,” Dean grins.

\---

The issue is magic. It can solve a lot of problems, but it also creates a lot of problems, especially since it’s illegal. And, frankly, Dean’s not too great at controlling it. Which is why this post as Sir Robert’s squire is such a gift.

Dean steps out of the woods and surveys Camelot for the first time. It’s surrounded by lush farmland with a silver river snaking through it. The castle itself is gorgeous, with high white walls and bright banners fluttering in the wind. He can see Sir Robert’s bear standard flying with the other knights’ over the stables.

The city is amazing. There are more people than Dean’s probably seen in his whole life. He’s admiring the blacksmith’s shop, which is at least three times the size of the one back home, when someone collides with him.

The boy sneers. “Watch where you’re going, peasant.”

“I’m not the one who needs to watch where he’s going,” Dean snaps, “And anyway, I’m a squire.”

“Oh really?” The boy steps closer, trying to look intimidating, which might have worked except that Dean is taller than he is.

“Balthazar,” says a surprisingly deep voice. It’s even more surprising when Dean sees who spoke. The boy is slight and pale, with dark hair, and finely made clothes. “Leave him be, Balthazar. And you, stop lying. _We’re_ squires; we know you aren’t one.”

Dean bristles. “It’s my first day.”

“Be careful or it’ll be your last,” says another of his fellow squires with a mocking laugh.

This is going to be just great.

\---

A giggling maid directs him to Sir Robert’s quarters and he knocks nervously. When there’s no answer, he knocks again and someone inside bellows, “Dammit, where’s that squire?”

Dean decides to risk opening the door. The room is spacious, but it’s crowded with books, weapons, and even a saddle. The man at the desk stands up, crossbow at the ready, and Dean freezes.

Then Sir Robert grins broadly and tosses the weapon aside. “Dean, my boy! How are you? How’s your father? And little Sammy?”

“Not so little anymore,” Dean says, avoiding the other question and accepting a hug.

“Good to hear it, good to hear it. Drop your stuff in there and I’ll take you to the armoury.”

The armoury is amazing. Dean is kind of in heaven. Sir Robert shows him his gear and where the cleaning supplies are, and then seems at a loss.

“So, just keep things, clean…” he trails off.

Dean glances around, but they’re all alone. “Sir,” he asks. “My father said- well, he used to tell me about your magic-”

Sir Robert claps a hand over his mouth and hisses, “What are you thinking, you idjit?”

“Ummm,” Dean says.

As quick as he stepped forward, Sir Robert steps back. “Mind your tongue, boy. You’re in Camelot now. Get to work.”

Dean hears sniggering and his eyes dart to the door where the other squires have just entered.

“In trouble already?” the boy, Balthazar, says wickedly, once Sir Robert has left.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean shoots back, “but you’ll still be a prat.”

The boy bristles and starts to raise the sword he was polishing. The dark haired young man from earlier puts a hand on his arm.

“Yeah. Listen to your friend,” Dean mocks.

Unexpectedly, Balthazar laughs. “You don’t know who he is, do you? God, you really are such a peasant.”

“What? Are you the king or something?” Dean asks sarcastically.

“The Crown Prince, actually,” the young man says. “Prince Castiel Arthur Angelli of Camelot. I won’t ask you to bow, but you ought to show a bit of respect.”

One of the other squires laughs. At least, Dean assumed he was a squire. On closer inspection, Dean realizes he’s wearing court clothes. The other squires seem a bit wary of him.

He steps forward. “You wannabe knights and your ridiculous posturing.” He sticks out his hand. “My name is Crowley. Foster son of King Zachariah, second in line for the throne, and not a dick about it.”

“Dean,” says Dean. “Sir Robert’s new squire. I’m from Winchester.”

“Winchester, eh?” says Crowley, eyes lighting up. “I think we might just be friends, Dean of Winchester.”

\---

“Sorry about earlier,” Dean says, when he staggers back to Sir Robert’s quarters hours later.

“I’m guessing you learned your lesson,” Sir Robert says with a wry smile. “You can’t for get that magic is illegal. In the outer territories, people can get away with practicing it quietly, but here in Camelot, even the mention of magic can get you arrested, and practicing it can get you killed.”

Sir Robert stares into his eyes as if trying to sear his warning into Dean’s brain. “That said, lock the door. Let’s learn some magic.”

This is why Dean really came to Camelot. Sir Robert was once one of the greatest sorcerers in the kingdom. He and Lady Ellen set the wards on the walls when Zachariah built the new castle at Camelot as a wedding present for his wife. He renounced his magic and fought for the King during the Mage Wars and afterwards became a bit of a recluse, hardly ever leaving the castle walls.

Dean met him once before, during the height of the Wars. He’d been sent out to find any children with burgeoning magical talent and to impress upon them the importance of giving up the Black Arts, especially if the thought of living was a pleasurable one. Dean and his brother Sam probably owed their lives to the fact that Sir Robert’s last stop had ended bloodily. Sammy was still a baby, but Dean had heard his hushed conversation with their father. “Keep it quiet, get as far from Camelot as you can, be safe. Keep _them_ safe.” They’d moved to Winchester three days later, and rarely looked back.

Despite his apparently shifting allegiances, Sir Robert still practices magic, albeit very quietly. Which is the why and how of Dean’s position in Camelot.

He sits down at Sir Robert’s desk and scoots close eagerly. “What spells am I going to learn? Can you teach me how to change the weather? I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“We won’t be doing any spells. I can teach you theory only.”

Dean’s heart and face fall. “Oh. But I’m really good at it. See?”

He raises a hand and feels his eyes burn gold as the magic flows through him. Objects begin to float up into the air and drift around the room in a slow, stately dance. Dean waves his hand idly and everything settles gently back into it’s proper place; except for a broom that starts lazily sweeping.

“Well,” says Sir Robert, after a long, silent moment passes. “That is going to make things interesting.”

\---

The next month passes quickly. Dean gets a letter from Sam and sends one back. He and Sir Robert actually do the occasional spell from his huge tomes, though they still mostly work on theory. Finally, he’s actually started getting along with the other squires, or at least, no one actively hates anyone else. It’s progress, of a sort.

Dean is polishing armor one afternoon, using a minimum of magic, when His Royal Highness Crown Prince Castiel walks in. Dean hastily avoids eye contact. Castiel is one of the squires Dean hasn’t figured out yet. Probably because he’s the Prince. He also rarely talks.

Prince Castiel looks around and realizes that they’re the only two in the room. Instead of avoiding him, or leaving like Dean thinks he might do, Castiel brings his gear over to where Dean is sitting, and gets to work.

“Hello?” Dean says, after an awkward silence.

“Hello,” Castiel replies amiably. “How are you liking Camelot?”

“It’s a big change from Winchester, but I’m adjusting,” Dean says diplomatically. “It is lovely though,” he adds quickly.

The corners of Castiel’s mouth twitch up, and even that tiny smile transforms his face. “It really is,” he says. “Winchester is nice; lovely forests up there, good hunting.”

Dean grins at the prince, amazed that he’s even heard of Winchester, let alone been there.

“You look surprised.”

“I guess I figured you didn’t leave the castle much.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he says a bit wistfully.

They fall quiet again, but it’s not as awkward this time.

Castiel finishes up his work before Dean, and he takes his time packing up his work things and cleaning away the dirty rags. Eventually though, he puts away the last jar of polish and starts to leave. Dean is struck by the sudden realization that he doesn’t want this oddly charming man to leave.

“Hey Cas!” he blurts, when the prince is at the door. “Will I see you later?”

Castiel - Cas - smiles softly. “Undoubtedly.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so much later than I promised! Enjoy!!
> 
> For the now currently named p

Dean and Cas develop an odd friendship; it seems to only exist when no one else is around. Sometimes that hurts, like when the squires spar together and the Prince barely acknowledges him at all, but it also makes their time alone feel more special. It’s something for just them and no one else. It’s a nice feeling since Dean is settling in at Court and getting used to the routine, which, of course, is when his legs are knocked out from under him.

He and Cas are in the stables; Cas has been trying to teach Dean how to do some of the more complicated maneuvers from the Code of Chivalry. Lord Crowley comes by, riding on his huge bay mare.

“Hello, Brother. Dean of Winchester.”

Dean hates how Crowley always calls him that.

“Hello,” Cas says. “Heading out for a ride?”

“Persephone needs her exercise,” he says, patting the broad curve of his horse’s neck. “Care to join me?”

Case makes his excuses, but there’s a challenging twinkle in his eyes that Dean can’t resist. “I’ll go,” he blurts. “Baby could use the chance to stretch her legs.”

Baby had been his father’s horse, but she was one of the many things he’d left behind. Dean gets her tacked up quickly, and they head out through the field house gate. They pass the jousting arena on their right.

“You haven’t seen a real joust yet, have you?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Castiel’s birthday is coming up soon, you’ll see one then. They’re always good entertainment. What do the fine folk of Winchester do for fun?”

Dean shrugs. “We play games, we have the occasional cock fight. We watch my brother run into things.”

Crowley laughs. “Sounds delightfully quaint. Though didn’t I hear about a spot of trouble with a ghoul half a year ago?”

Dean freezes. “Ghouls don’t exist,” he says carefully.

Crowley smiles. “And you believe that, do you?”

“There’s no more magic in Camelot,” Dean says, deciding that toeing the party line is the best course of action.

Crowley’s smiles widens. “Well alright. Let’s ride.” And with hardly a signal to his horse, he canters off.

Dean is, he feels, justifiably paranoid about that exchange, but he has no choice but to follow after the third most powerful man in Camelot.

\---

They do announce a joust soon after. Runners are sent out to all the knights and even to a few neighboring kingdoms. Sir Robert decides not to do the joust, but he signs up for a few of the exhibition rounds, and he makes Dean sign up for the squires’ sword fights. “It’ll be good practice for you.”

Dean’s good with a sword, but he’s got a rougher style than what they teach here, so he’s a little anxious about the tournament. He starts spending all his free time on the training grounds. He’s there one evening after dinner, fiercely defending against the straw dummy, when Cas approaches.

“Hey!” he grins, lowering his sword and wiping the sweat off his brow. “Come to laugh at me?”

“You’re not doing that badly,” Cas says, stripping off his formal cote and pulling on one of the padded ones over his chemise. “Want a few pointers?”

“Sure,” Dean agrees.

Cas settles into a defensive position opposite him, and Dean raises his sword. Without warning, Cas lunges forward, catching Dean in the ribs and completely unprepared.

“Ow!” he complains.

“That’ll wake you up,” Cas says with a small smile.

Dean doesn’t wait for Cas this time, just throws himself at him, but Cas maneuvers around him easily, and none of Dean’s blows connect. Cas stops getting any hits on him though, which is heartening. They parry back and forth, landing the occasional blow, but nothing serious or decisive. Dean is just beginning to consider magical means to end this fight when he sees an opening and takes it. His sword slices through the air and connects with Cas’s upper arm. Or it would have, except it’s stopped about an inch away by apparently thin air.

Cas winces appropriately and rubs at the spot where he was decidedly not struck. “Good one, Dean. Let’s call it a day, yeah?”

Then he darts away before Dean can say anything.

\---

Cas is definitely avoiding him, and every time they’re forced to be in the same place, he looks terrified. Dean wants to scream at him, tell him he’s not going to reveal his secret, but that would sort of defeat the purpose. Dean will walk in one door of the stables and Cas will dart out the other. Within minutes of him entering the armory, Cas will make some excuse and rush away. It’s driving Dean mad.

The night before the tournament, Dean manages to get Cas alone by the simple expedient of trapping him in a tent. That sounds more malicious than it actually is. The tents all look the same and he just walks into the wrong one. Cas looks like a caged animal, which he sort of is. For half a minute, Dean considers ducking back out, but he and Cas need to talk about this.

“I haven’t told anyone,” he starts with. “I _won’t_ tell anyone.”

“How can I trust you?” Cas asks, and Dean feels hurt, but he knows Cas is right.

He’s the _Prince_ , if anyone knew he used magic there would be hell to pay. But at the same time, Cas should know he can trust him. Dean knows he has no choice.

He stretches his magic out and forms it into a small flame which he cups in the palm of his hand. He carefully folds it into the shape of a small bird which flies around the tent.

“That’s why you can trust me,” he says quietly.

Cas looks like he’s just been thrown from his horse. “You- you’re- you can- magic?” he finally manages to whisper.

Dean nods.

“Oh,” says Cas, his voice thick with relief.

The little flame bird has landed on Cas’s wrist and he steps forward to bring it back to Dean. “That’s amazing. I can’t do anything like that. Thank you,” he says softly.

He raises his hand and the bird hops onto Dean’s shoulder before flickering out. Dean is suddenly supremely conscious of how close they are.

“I mean, I knew about you, so…” Dean shrugs.

“You didn’t have to though.”

Cas ducks his head down quickly, then looks up at Dean with a strange look on his face. Before Dean can do anything, Cas is leaning up and pressing their lips together.

Dean falls into the kiss almost desperately, like all of a sudden realizing you’re starving. His hands find Cas’s waist and he pulls him close, feeling the warm line of his body for one glorious moment, before Cas pulls away.

“I should go,” Cas says, flushing a beautiful pink. “Good- good luck tomorrow.”

“You too,” Dean says, sure he’s blushing just as hard.

Cas slips past him out of the tent, and Dean slumps against a sword rack, not sure how they went from not talking to this, but really glad of it.

\---

The day of the tournament dawns bright and clear. Dean knows this because he watched it. He couldn’t get to sleep after his kiss with Cas. First he couldn’t stop replaying it, and then he couldn’t stop worrying about it. He did get some good sword practice in at about three in the morning when he moved on to his freaking out stage. All in all, he’s a pile of very tired nerves when he makes his way from Sir Robert’s quarters to the armory.

On the way, Lord Crowley falls into step with him.

“Good morning,” Dean says cautiously.

Crowley nods, smiles wickedly, and then leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “I know.” Then he straightens up and puts on his diplomatic face. “Fight well today. It should be a most interesting tourney.”

He walks off, leaving Dean stunned in his wake.

His work is off for the rest of the day. He mixes up Sir Robert’s gear at least four times before he sends Dean away and gets a page to help him. He goes to help with Sir Robert’s horse because he’s better at that, but the huge gray horse takes a snap at him when he tightens the girth too much, so Dean decides he’s safest lying low. He slips out of the stable and runs smack into one of the visiting knights.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” he gasps, looking up into the unexpected face of his father. “Dad?”

His father shakes his head sharply before turning on his heel and striding off in the opposite direction.

Dean doesn’t know if he can take any more of today. Then he sees Cas across the crowded field of tents and he feels himself grinning - in the words of Sir Robert - like an idjit. He really doesn’t care though. _Cas kissed him_. That fact makes everything else unimportant.

“Coming to watch me joust?” Cas asks when they reach each other.

“Of course,” says Dean. He blushes as he pulls out a small charm. He’s not very good at enchanting objects yet, but he followed the instructions carefully and the knotted cords for protection look perfect. It buzzes slightly when their hands touch and he knows it’s working. “Ride well,” he says, wishing he could say more.

Cas smiles and they reluctantly part ways.

Dean keeps an eye out for his father as he heads for the stands. He hasn’t seen the man in years, had wondered if he was dead. Dean has no idea what he’s doing in Camelot now.

The joust has been underway since the early morning, and they’re starting the semifinals. Dean slides into his seat just as the herald announces Crown Prince Castiel Arthur Angelli of Camelot. The knight jousting against Cas has eerily familiar armor, and a standard with a horned African deer. Cas will be facing his father.

Dean grips his seat worriedly. The horses shift and turn impatiently. The trumpet sounds and they’re both off for the first pass; glancing blows on both sides and nothing is broken. They wheel around to set up for the next pass.

So far, Dean has been watching Cas, but his eyes dart quickly to his father. Out of the corner of his eye he catches, something, a faint shimmer of light around his father’s lance. No, not light, magic. Dean is on his feet and moving before his brain catches up. He has to force his way through the crowd, but he makes it to the field rail just as the second trumpet sounds. The light grows as the horses hurtle towards each other, and Dean closes his eyes and hopes. There’s a sickening crunch and Dean’s eyes fly open. Both lances are shattered, but Cas’s shield is intact and he’s still seated. His father, on the other hand, has tumbled to the ground, half a shield in one hand and half a lance in other. His squire is rushing to tend to him, and someone grabs Dean’s arm.

It’s Lord Crowley and his grip is inescapable. “With me. Now.”

“But I need to see how Cas-”

“Now!”

Crowley drags him into the first empty tent he finds. “You really are such a peasant, aren’t you? Doing magic in front of the entire Royal Court is a quick and easy way to get yourself killed.”

Dean blanches. “I didn’t do magic-”

Crowley cuts him off, “I could sense it. I’m not so good at using it, but I know it when I see it, and you just did magic.”

“I saved C- the Prince’s live!” Dean snaps, suddenly angry. “My fa- that knight was going to kill him.”

Crowley sighs. “You’re right. You’re still an idiot, but you’re right. Castiel can’t actively control his magic. It protects him from most things, but… thank you.” He sticks out his hand to shake.

Dean is having trouble following this conversation.

“Keep an eye on him, Winchester, and I won't report you.” Crowley leaves before Dean can respond.

“Alright?”

Dean heads back to the field; he needs to know what’s happened. Sir Robert meets him halfway and drags him into another tent.

“Are you stupid, boy?”

“Apparently,” Dean snipes.

Sir Robert claps him on the shoulder. “Well, you did good.”

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“I believe Sir John was enchanted. His lance certainly was. Someone badly wanted the Prince dead.”

“He didn’t act on his own?”

Sir Robert hesitates a moment too long.

“It’s because of Mom, isn’t it?” Dean asks. “That’s why he left, why he’s doing all this.”

Sir Robert pulls him into a fierce hug. “Don’t worry about it, Dean. You saved the prince’s life. I am so proud of you.”

After he leaves, Dean continues his walk back to the field, but he’s pulled into yet another tent.

“What now?” he grumbles.

“Is that any way to act around your Prince?”

“Cas?”

Cas is there, dusty from the joust and still in his armor, but all in one beautiful piece. Dean glances around to make sure they’re alone before he pulls Cas into a tight hug.

“I was worried,” he says into Cas’s hair.

“I wasn’t; I have you protecting me now.”

Cas tilts Dean’s face down to his own and their lips meet for the second, glorious time. It’s amazing; Dean feels like there are fireworks going off in his head, until he opens his eyes and realizes there are actually lights flashing around them.

“Oops,” he laughs, pulling away.

“I could get used to this,” Cas says wonderingly, raising a hand to play with one of the lights.

“Good,” Dean says, tugging him in for another kiss.

\---

THE END


End file.
